


Feed Serpents To Your Head

by Queen_Walrus_Approximately



Category: 1960s - Fandom, 1960s Music Scene RPF, 60s music scene - Fandom, classic rock - Fandom
Genre: 1960s, 1960s Music, 60s music scene, Attempted Murder, Coma, Domestic Violence, M/M, Marriage, Married Couple, Ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 20:10:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10601337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_Walrus_Approximately/pseuds/Queen_Walrus_Approximately
Summary: Jim Morrison and Brian Jones have a turbulent relationship, filled with mind games and an internal struggle of a beaten down Pisces.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dana_ohara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dana_ohara/gifts).



"You worthless imbecile," Jim said, towering over Brian as he cleaned up a broken tea cup he had thrown at Jim just minutes before.   
"Why don't you just piss off now?" Brian spat up at him. Jim crouched immediately, and grabbed Brian's jaw in his hand, roughly.   
"What was that, DEAR?" Jim sneered at him, and Brian spat in his face. Jim wiped his face on his sleeve slowly, then stared Brian in the face for a long minute, before suddenly slapping him across the face.   
"You don't disrespect me like that again, you hear me? That's not how this  marriage works, queer boy." Then Jim tossed him away by the jaw, forcing Brian to fall down on his side, slicing his hand on the broken pottery he had yet to sweep up.   
Jim walked out the door, without a word, or even a glance over the shoulder, leaving Brian pathetically on the ground in front of his chore.   
Refusing to cry, Brian sat up, rubbed his cheek, staring at the door, hearing the engine of Jim's Shelby GT500, knowing he was going to a girlfriend's house.  
  They weren't always like this. They used to be in love, used to cherish each moment they had together. They would pass each other passionate kisses on the side. But something changed, and Brian couldn't find any fault but in himself. It started two years ago, five months after their illegitimate marriage, Jim turned sour out of the blue. He would be shoved, be hit, be yelled at. And he had no idea how or why Jim's affection for Brian faded.   
  Now, two years later, he sits on the hard wood floor, subconsciously cleaning the tea he'd spilt in the living room, wondering how he ended up in this hellish marriage. He reasoned with himself that he needed to leave, that he would be happier, without Jim in his life.   
But.   
He couldn't do it, he already knew. He was a dependent on Jim; on his mental and physical strength.  
  And that wasn't the only issue. He knew Jim would track him down, and bring him back or kill him.   
He shook himself out of his thoughts, finished cleaning his mess, then started dinner with a heavy heart and a worried mind. He baked a chicken, and started a pot of beans, both Jim's favourites.   
Sighing, Brian sat at the table, and pulled a flask from his suit pocket, unscrewed the cap, and knocked his head back, drinking the whole bottle. He laid his head on the table, waiting for dinner to simmer.


	2. II

Fours hours passed, the first hour he stirred the beans and set the table, the second he waited patiently and dreadfully for Jim's arrival home, and Brian fell asleep for the last two hours. He only woke up when he was startled out of his sleep by the front door slamming. It was a sound he was all too familiar with, and feared. He stood up immediately, drowsy and tipsy still, having drank a few too many glasses of hard liquor.   
Jim walked into the kitchen, and stopped. He, too, was drunk, and made Brian nervous. He sat down at the head of the table, and teared into the food without even a greeting. It irritated Brian, but he kept his mouth shut, for fear of Jim's drunken wrath.   
Brian sat across from him, and silently stared out the window, to the dark night sky.  
"Why is there blood in your face," Jim demanded. Brian jumped, nervous that Jim addressed him. He jumped up immediately.  
"I'll clean it off," he rushed out, and started to speed his way to the bathroom, hoping to avoid another convers-  
"I didn't say you could leave," Jim said gravely. He grabbed Brian's small wrist, and tugged him abruptly back, making him stumble, and land in the dinning chair uncomfortably.   
"Clumsy fool," Jim muttered, as he brutally ran his thumb across the deep cut on Brian's palm, making him breath sharply in pain. He dropped his hand and grinned cruelly, taking pleasure in the pains he brought the man.   
"Where did the love go," Brian rushed out, and immediately hated himself when Jim stopped eating and slowly lifted his eyes to him.   
"Love?" Jim questioned, staring him in the eye. "The love's always been here, how could you not feel my love for you?" He asked Brian, seeming offended, hurt even.  
Brian shook his head, not wanting to believe the look in his eyes, that said he still loved him. "This isn't love, James. Love is carrying for your-".  
"Are you saying I don't care for you? Are you assuming that I go to work each day for the fun of it?" He seemed angry now, and Brian wished he were anywhere else but there, but he was going to win this argument, even if it cost him. Jim lit a cigarette and took a few puffs off it. Brian spoke up again.   
"That's not what I was assuming at all, and you know it. Fuck, why must you be like this-" Jim interrupted him, again, just to be cruel.   
"You know the good thing about those girls I screw, is they know when to keep their fucking mouths shut!" He slammed his fist on the table to emphasize his anger, and he flinched, but Brian refused to back down, even when he was on his breaking point.   
"I... I want to leave you, James," he finally admitted, ready to face whatever reaction Jim had to his claim.  
"You can't leave me, Lewis," he stated plainly, surely. "You WON'T leave me, you love me, you need me," he took another draw of his fag.  
"Don't call me that," Brian said in a small voice, needing to defy him just a little, "I go by Brian for a reason."   
Jim grabbed Brian's arm abruptly and pulled it to him roughly over the table. He took the end of his cigarette, and stubbed it into Brian's pale skin. He hissed in pain, and tried to pull his arm away, but to no avail. "I'll call you whatever I want, LEWIS," he said, getting close to Brian's face.  
"You cunt!" He yelled at Jim, and raised his other arm, as if to slap him, but didn't get far. Jim took his unburned arm and twisted it around, disabling him.  
He stood, tipping the chair over, forcing Brian to come with him.   
His lips hovered right above Brian's, and he said softly, "remember who your love belongs to," then he kissed him hard on the lips, forcing himself upon Brian. He let go of his arm and pushed him into the island, hitting the side hard, and falling to the floor.   
"Clean this mess up," he sneered at his husband, then stepped over his sprawled out body, his boot nearly flattening Brian's small hand, as he walked to the bedroom.   
Brian stood slowly, spirit broken, body battered. He went through the motions of his cleaning dinner up, throwing everything out, not caring he hadn't eaten since breakfast.   
Jim was already fast asleep when Brian walked into the bedroom, so he went straight to the restroom, and turned on the shower. He stared at his reflection as the water heated, taking in his bruised cheek, burned arm, and other bruised body parts.   
His eyes stung, sympathetic for the situation he couldn't escape. Blinking rapidly, he stepped into the steaming stall, and let the hot water rush down his face, hiding his tears.


	3. III

Brian woke up the next morning, Jim laying on top of him, naked, and very heavy. He grimaced, not wanting to go through another day with him.  
As he lay on his stomach, waiting for him to wake up on his own and move off him, he thought back to their courtship days, when they fell in love, and as always, tried to find fault in himself.   
It was mid winter, four years ago, and the two of them were walking down the snow-shoveled pavement, illuminated by the gaslight street lamps. Brian looked up at Jim, admiring his dark, shoulder length curls, his sharp jaw, and perfectly straight nose. He thought about how fortunate he was to have this man.   
Jim looked down at him, and smile his charming smile. He looked about the empty streets, then turned back to Brian and swept down, capturing his lips in a sweet, swift kiss, leaving them both breathless. They smiled shyly at each other, then looked straight ahead again. It was the first time they kissed, but it had felt so natural for them.   
Brian blinked rapidly, returned to the present. He was staring at the wall of their bedroom, the bedroom he shared with the man he once loved, and now hated.   
He knew he needed to escape this acidic relationship, before he caught his death. But he couldn't go to the cops, they would only arrest- or lynch- them both for being queer. He couldn't up and leave; he had no where secret to go. No, he had to deal with this himself.   
Brian pushed up, and Jim rolled off him. He groaned, and in his deep sleep, grabbed Brian's hand. He flinched, waiting for Jim to fracture his fingers again, like he did a few months back, but instead caressed it, and kissed the cut palm he had brutally dug into last night.   
Brian closed his eyes tight, not believing, even in his sleep, that Jim held affection for him anymore. He yank his hand away, the pain in his heart making him angry, and stood. Jim woke from his rest due to his abruptness. He rubbed his eyes, and looked up at him. When he realized who he was, his eyes glazed over with utter distaste. Even after two years, It hurt; more than a physical ache, it made his heart bleed, but never would he give Jim the satisfaction of knowing that.  
Brian cleared his throat, "I, uh I uh am going to the market today? What do you uh you you-" Brian was stuttering bad, and he knew it made Jim aggressive when he couldn't speak properly, but sometimes he just couldn't speak right under the pressure of circumstance.   
"Just shut up, I'll write you a damn list. Blabbering fool," he muttered. Brian nodded, and began to get ready his trip out.   
"Dammit, queer boy, must you do that in here," Jim growled when Brian was down to his skivvies. Brian just stared at him as he took his under garments off, clearly not giving a fuck anymore, what pain came his way.   
He quickly dressed up in his favorite suit, and grabbed his wallet before heading out the d-   
"Give me your wallet," Jim demanded. Brian took it out of his pocket in aggravation, and chunked it at him across the room, harder than he intended. The billfold hit Jim square in the face, making him jump up from the bed and cross the room in quick strides.   
He grabbed Brian by the neck, and slammed him against the wall. "You better be careful how you treat your husband, now. It's not too nice to throw things in anger," in cruel ambition, he pressed down on Brian's throat, adding pain on top of his lack of oxygen.   
Brian crawled at Jim's hands. Just when tears started to pour out of his eyes, and his face turn red from lack of breathing, Jim released his hold, allowing Brian to fall to the floor, wheezing for air. He hadn't an inhaler, thanks to Jim, and even if he did, he wouldn't have access to it. So he suffered on the floor for a few long minutes, really wishing he hadn't tossed the wallet at Jim.   
He lay on his side, and looked up at Jim as he took his money out of the fold, leaving most likely just enough for groceries. When Jim was done, he dropped the leather bound on Brian's face.   
"Get out of my sight," Jim said, a handful of twenties in his grasp, walking away. Brian got his battered body with the system, got up on his own two, and beat feet out the house and down the street.


	4. IV

True, Brian was nervous- very, very, dreadfully nervous he had been and was now. He had drawn money out of his secret band account, and was now standing out front of an ammunition store. Wringing his hands, he walked in, with shaky legs, and looked around at the walls adorned with guns. Hand guns, semi and fully automatics, shotguns. Swallowing hard, he wondered if he could really do it.  
"Hello, ma'am, how may I- oh," Brian whipped around in surprise, and the store clerk's friendly output changed to disgruntlement when he realised Brian was not, in fact, a woman, but a long haired freak.  
"Uh, hello, sir. I'd like... self protection?" He didn't know how to word it, he didn't want to seem suspicious, but just standing in the store made him paranoid.  
The man pointed at him. "I got a .38 with your name on it!" The man rushed over to the counter, pulling a handgun from the display. He slapped it into Brian's hand, the cold metal and heavy weight just another dreadful reminder of what he had to do.  
"I'll take it," Brian said, "and, and a few clips." The man nodded, and took the gun back, to polish and holster it for Brian as he pulled out the adequate cash.  
"Here you go sir, have a good one," the man said, watching Brian put the holster on his hip, and walking out the store. He made sure his jacket covered his weapon before walking down the street, and went to the grocery store, like he said he was going to do.  
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••  
After purchasing his products from the market, Brian walked back home, the three miles slower than when he walked into town. He was dreading this, knew he shouldn't but he did.  
When he finally arrived home, he took a deep shaky breath, dreadfully nervous. He opened the door with one hand, holding the grocery bag in his other arm.  
"I'm home," he croaked out, and walked to the kitchen to put the produce away. As he dug in the fridge to make room, he heard Jim saunter into the room, but he didn't know where he went. He closed the fridge and turned around, and was shocked to find Jim was standing across the kitchen from him, staring at him, hands behind his back.  
"Lewis," Jim addressed him  
"Brian," he corrected him sharply. Jim sneered, and stood straight from leaning on the sink counter. He took a step forward.  
"I've been thinking about what you said last night, dear. About you wanting to leave me. But I can't let you do that," Jim said, and brought his hand forward, showing a fairly large knife in his hand. Brian's eyes widened, not believing it came to this point.  
"Why do you hate me, James? What have I ever done to deserve your ire, the pain you inflicted on me? After two years of courtship, and five months of marriage, you suddenly turn cold!" Brian's wrath started to grow, along with his confusion and inner hatred.  
Jim stabbed the knife into the top of the stove, by Brian was unaffected by the abrupt, loud motion.  
"It's your fault, don't you see!? You made me queer!" Jim laughed, exasperated, like it was clear to see. "I realized this, once I remembered how much better a woman's touch was than YOURS," his words cut through Brian, much like that knife was bound to do if Brian didn't think fast. Tears poured from his eyes, but he stood strong. "It's not normal, being in love with another man. You messed with my brain," it  was clear he throwing these lies and accusations at Brian to play with his mind. They didn't make sense, and his eyes were crazed, filled with anger. But now that self hatred and fear didn't cloud his judgement, he saw where that hatred was really directed.  
Brian shook his head, "No, Jim. You don't hate me at all. It's yourself you hate-"  
"BE QUIET-"  
"You hate that you're not a straight male, like your father raised you to be . You hate that a man can love you more than a woman, and you love a man back. You've been lied to your whole life!" Brian ended on a louder note, tears still falling. But his words got through to Jim, because his eyes started to flow of tears, too. Gritting his teeth with a growl of anger, he brought his knife up, and started for Brian.  
Quickly, Brian brought his gun up, flipped off the safety, and aimed it at Jim. His eyes widened in shock, and bounced back from his advancement.  
"Goodbye, James," he said in a thick voice, throat clogged by tears. He pulled the trigger, once, just enough to shoot him in the head. It wasn't straight on though. His untrained aim hit his husband above his left eye, his eye which was narrowed in anger.  
His body dropped slowly to the ground, just as Brian's gun slipped from his guilty hands. He collapsed to his knees, gaping at the bloody damage he'd committed, and immediately regretted it, realizing even with all their hatred, he still loved Jim. Sobbing, he stood up on shaky knees, and ran to the phone to dial for help.


	5. V

Brian sat, in the stiff, uncomfortable chair, in the dimly lit room, staring at the medical bed. Two months, Jim had been in a coma. The bullet went straight through his head, and he somehow managed to survive. It was truly a miracle, but the doctors don't  know when- or if- he'll wake up. Brian watched him each day, wasted his hours away, sometimes talking to him, sometimes just sitting in silence, stewing in his guilt.   
The detectives had already spoken with him, and determined it was self defense. They wanted to know if, should he ever wake up, he wanted a restraining order. Brain declined, his hope withered as it were.  
Brian stood, and cracked his back, his whole body aching. He went to the window, and stared out at the beautiful court yard, the birds and squirrels playing in the grass and trees, free.   
He stared at them for a long time, wishing he could start over, his whole life, when a commotion stirred behind him. He spun around quick, and saw Jim, eyes still closed, gagging on the fluid pipe shoved down his throat. The heart monitor started making noises more rapidly, alerting anyone near, that Jim was in distress. Brian ran to the corridor, and yelled for the doctor. Three scrubs and a coat pushed through the doorway, and held him down, trying to calm him down.   
"It seems he's come out of his coma now," the doctor announced. "We can take him off of life support now, ladies." The nurses unhooked all of the machines, and took the tubes out of his mouth. Jim settled, and started breathing on his own. The nurses left, then after the doctor took some notes, he did as well.   
  Brian sat next to Jim, and clasped his hand. He couldn't describe the feelings he had for the man anymore. He wasn't sure what he expected when he woke up. A disabled Jim? The same old Jim, who was bound to kill him? He was neutral to either possibility.   
He sighed, and at that moment Jim let out a sigh, too, blinking his eyes open. He looked around the room, in confusion, then down, to their hands.   
"Where am I? Who are you?" He asked, bewildered. He looked at Brian now, and his features softened, and Brian couldn't look him in the eye when he said, "I'm Brian, and you got shot. In the head." He didn't elaborate, just kept it at that.   
Jim never moved his hand out from under Brian's, but did continue questioning him. Brian answered how he wanted. He confirmed they were together, but not married. He told him his name, he told Jim about their relationship in the first two years, but no more than that. No need to stain his vision of what they had.   
Jim was released from the hospital later that afternoon. Brian and him walked out to the street and Jim brought him to a stop. He brought up their hands.   
"You didn't mention we were married," he said.  
Shit, Brian thought, but he smiled.   
"Uh, well yeah. We are, hah," He was sweating, unsure how he would react. Jim smiled down at Brian, and it took his breath away. It was innocent, sweet, and filled with unfiltered excitement. He intertwined their hands. This affection, after two years of abuse, was new to Brian. He started to tear up, and Jim looked down with concern.  
"What's the matter?" He asked, and swept the tears away. Brian took a deep breath, and flashed him a wide, genuine smile, the first one in what seemed like forever.   
"Just glad to have you back, James".


End file.
